


Selfish

by shyfoxes



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Desmond Miles Lives, Desmond-centric, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 16:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shyfoxes/pseuds/shyfoxes
Summary: It’s selfish, he knows, to stay here. To enjoy this.





	Selfish

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a Des/Del fic and I finally did, even if its a short one

Sleeping’s not as easy anymore.

Sometimes, sleeping feels too much like dying that Desmond lies awake at night, overly aware of his heartbeat, of his bedmate’s own, and trying, sometimes failing, to convince himself that he’s real.  There’s a bed under his back, not a chair. There’s a body against his own, sucking the heat from him and giving it back tenfold like a furnace. Not a vision. There’s a man, just one year shy of his own age, but with all the excitement and recklessness Desmond wishes he still had, just a few hours away from waking up and kissing the daylights out of him. Not an ancestor, not a fleeting memory of a lover.

He’s himself, in his body,  _his own_ , and for the moment, far away from Abstergo.

And the Brotherhood.

It’s raining lightly outside, the beat of drops against the metal boarding guarding the windows. Sometimes in the corners of his eyes, even with the Bleeding Effect managed, Desmond can see the haze of shapes. Of ancestors, pacing, standing, rippling like the smoke that burns from Delsin’s hands and fizzles in the air. With a wry grin, Desmond flips them the bird. Drops his cheek down against the mess of hair that winds up in his mouth because he mouth-breathes as his boyfriend maybe-not-boyfriend tells him.

It’s selfish, he knows, to stay here. To enjoy this.

To welcome the way Delsin tightens his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, just above his heart. To smooth his thumb against the furrow between his brows because he knows his kind of lover is dreaming about losing his brother, the slip of his fingers sliding out of reach. He’ll tremble, and around them, the tv will blink on, fuzz with static, before shutting off and starting again. To bury his hand, numb from where its trapped under Delsin’s body, into the back of Delsin’s head, nails scratching through the mess of his hair and soothe him. To press their foreheads together and tell him, _“I’m here.”_

But the feeling he gets when Delsin relaxes against him, bow-taught body turning into boneless cat. Or how his breath tickles against Desmond’s on-coming morning scruff, Desmond finds he doesn’t care.

He’s done a lot, sacrificed and endured a lot. They both have. He’s going to soak in every second of this, make it a memory for whoever may be running playgrounds in  _his_  memories.

He looks to the ghosts of his ancestors and dares whoever comes to try and get between them.

**Author's Note:**

> based a bit on this http://fortheloveofwii.tumblr.com/post/157745225739/this-was-supposed-to-be-happy
> 
> original here  
> http://shyfoxes.tumblr.com/post/179021087023/desmonddelsin-drabble


End file.
